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Hatch is gone...
my boy, Hatch crossed the rainbow bridge gently smiling on 04:30 July 27, 2012.
the boss of Yamato Park.
brave, wise, gentle boy.
after 3 years of dating and feeding at the park, in late December 2009,
dad found him in the baddest condition.
he was the AIDS carrier .
I knew his life was not so long but diceded to bring him home.
so Hatch became our family member.
about a year, he spend all day in his favorite bed.
and last year, I found his condition was getting better and better.
it turned this spring.
we went to the hospital every week.
in the fine Friday morning, finally he decided to liberate himself.
Hatch, we miss you...
but we want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH.
you are the special.
I still feel your strong energy in my heart.
I'm so so so happy to be your dad.
はっちが逝きました。
微笑んでいるかのような表情でした。
「余生は我が家で」と連れ帰ってから、２年半もがんばってくれました。
どうしようもない喪失感にさいなまれていますが、
「男のなかの男」はっちにバカにされそうなので、
ただただ「ありがとう」と言い続けることにします。
That's what the crew on CN 3108 on Q196 called into the radio as the train was cleared to come in through Leverett Junction and into the pocket. They truly were coming in hot - I spotted the train from a half mile away and only made it up the bridge to get the shot with seconds to spare.
With a couple quick blasts of the horn, Q196 rolled on down to Bradley Avenue for a crew change. Meanwhile, I was off and back to work. Another day in the life.
Coming this weekend? Here is a Chalet surrounded by the Hakuba forest, which would make a nice weekender. I liked the snow line in the trees as the wind kept the tree free from ice / snow at the trees' top only. I was lucky enough to see it during a break in the cloud. This Panorama is made from 6 photos, processed through Photoshop. This photo is part of a series created in Japan during the 2013-14 seasons holiday. via 500px bit.ly/1f79QIw
The last in the Stormy Brighton Pier series :o)
In glorious 16:9 widescreen goodness.
Probably best viewed large.
We stay at Kongma Dingma and were enjoing rainbow clouds over Mera La, when I noticed two guys coming. I come to meet them and quickly identified them as russian-speaking people. Indeed, they were ukranian guys, who come from Amphu Laptsa side. We share our trail since then.
Eric said "See ya" as he jumped out of the jeep. He stood there for a
moment, among the dazzling lights from various tiny shops (the average
convenience store in Udaipur is about the size of a non walk-in
closet), tiny temples, and passing motorcycles. He stood there like a
static part of a photograph, just one of the millions of people out in
India at 8pm, and then blended away as we continued on.
He was one of the volunteers at the Animal Aid Society, a pretty
amiable fellow from Australia. He had done previous work at a
chimpanzee sanctuary in Uganda, and had been at the shelter in Udaipur
before. He mostly worked with cattle and donkeys, and introduced me
to these larger livestock. He was one of the members of our group who
took a trip out to a gorgeous temple to participate in Manas singing.
We usually left the hospital around noon to get lunch, take showers,
and have a day to explore the city. This day, though, Erika (director
of the society) invited us to the temple. She said it would be fun,
singing and clapping, we'd sip some bhang and relax. She said the
bhang (weak marijuana beverage) was mild and her daughter (Clair, 17)
really loved it. We went along.
The temple was one of the most beautiful places we have been. We sat
on a marble patio-like structure, although it had a roof. It was all
men except for Erika, Claire, and Xep. The men looked like they came
from all over; some in western clothing, some in turbans, some had
cowls covering their heads. Some were teens, some were very elderly.
Almost all of them had the glazed eyes of stoners and most of them
were playing finger cymbals, drums, rattles, or just clapping along
with the chants. There was next to this area a tiny ghat, or steps
leading into a small lake for ritual bathing. Across the lake were
brilliant green hills spotted with stone shelters, similar to
dome-topped pagodas. It looked right out of the Hindu paintings you
see of Shiva with neon landscapes in the background.
Before arriving, we stopped in the nearest town and had some water and
then were offered the bhang. The temple also provides it, but as half
of our group was vegan, we wanted a milk-free version. It was made in
a delicious solution of lemon, mint, and spices. Claire quickly drank
a cup and a half while Erika, Eric, and I had a cup each. Xep
abstained this time.
The effects did seem pretty mild although it made the music more
hypnotic and fun. It was hard to follow the chanting in another
language, but the drumbeat and cymbals were very intuitive. It was
essentially an elaborate (and much more polished) version of drum
circles you'd find on college campuses. Anyone free to come and go as
they please, pick up or put down instruments. Follow the group but no
real regulations on how to play. There was a core "band" of tabla,
harmonium, and one main cymbalist. Every once in a while someone
would get up and dance in the middle of the circle, and sometimes
someone would sing solo. It was quite beautiful.
After a while we left, and on the way back had to stop as Erika was
feeling very carsick. Indian driving is indeed CRAZY and this was on
one of the worst roads we had been on: A winding mountain "highway"
through very steep passes. To make it worse, it was in marble
country, so the road was speckled with enormous dumptrucks going about
5mph, full of marble. The Indian style of passing cannot even be
explained. Basically, there are no lanes and it is extremely
suicidal. Horns are blared to indicate intent, and then drivers just
go where they want. They don't use headlights until well after dark.
Its truly terrifying and I feel like I have an above-average tolerance
for this kind of thing. I had to alternate between paying strict
attention to the current odds of death through the front windshield
(generally ranging between 60 and 99%) and looking at the floor to get
a brief break from the adrenaline.
And so we stopped for a few minutes as Erika had to lay down. The
driver and her guru-escort friend debated what to do. I talked to
Eric and Claire about parents acting weirdly. Eric's dad was known to
get so drunk that he swang from rafters, once knocking himself out.
Claire's mom was laying in a Jeep in India, stoned on bhang and
groaning. I didn't really have anything to add other than "wow" to
Eric's stories. I was pretty high myself.
It got darker and the driving became more and more sketchy as we got
closer to town. Xep tried to talk to me, asking me what was on my
mind, and I was really feeling the bhang. Unable to speak. Just
holding on (literally, holding onto the steel frame of the Jeep to
keep from falling out the open back with each bump). I was imagining
the beeline I would make to our bed over and over so that when the
time came I could navigate it without incident.
But first we had to get Erika home. She lives in the village right
near the animal hospital, way up a road that most in America would
call a path. We had never been there at night. It was much more
jungle-like bouncing through the mud (crank-deep on our morning
bikerides). Frogs and insects hissing all around. Waves of green
tentacles on either side. I always hate knowing a new segment of a
trip is coming up when I just want to be home. The familiarity of the
road, knowing how much farther there was to go, was worse than unknown
routes. But finally, we made it. Erica wasn't able to say much of a
goodbye, and thats ok, but we didn't realize that was the last time we
would see her.
And so as we went back to Udaipur, with a little more room in the
back, I watched the streets flow by. A linear reality like a
filmstrip passing by. A shop, a puddle, a camel in the middle of the
road, another store, a group of men sitting around a fire, some tires,
street dogs, another shop. These things flowed by scene after scene.
Sometimes there would be an alley or side road, and it overwhelmed my
mind to realize there was a whole universe of these
filmstrips-of-life down that road too. I concentrated on not freaking
out.
We were finally in familiar territory, and that returns to the scene
above where Eric jumped out. Again, I didn't know it was the last
time I would see him. As we finished up at the hopsital in the last
few days, he became pretty ill so was not there. I wanted to get his
email address, maybe I will somehow someday.
A little while later we were in our own neighborhood and in the midst
of a pretty serious traffic jam. Our streets were difficult for even
an autorickshaw to handle, let alone our ridiculous jeep. We jumped
out, and I had to just focus on following Xep. Stopping to get water
was an epic test for me. The guy did not want our money (24 rupees,
about 50 cents) because it was wrinkled. We were confused, we had
been warned about this but usually people would accept. I told him it
was all I had and he just waved us away. Free water, I guess, but it
felt like we were somehow in the wrong and not really like a bargain.
Amped up from the walk, instead of going to bed as I had dreamed, I
did go to the rooftop of our hotel and we had some dinner. We'd been
taking a break from Indian food and its assaults on the stomach so had
plain rice and pasta. I was feeling much better, but when I went back
to bed it was right back to fractal unfolding universes of vision and
ludicrous dreaming. In short, the street bhang is rough stuff; not as
gentle as the "special lassis" served to tourists which had previously
been pretty kind to me.
And so we finished up in Udaipur a couple days later. They bought us
samosas and handmade potato chips. We sat in a little temple by a
river and people gave speeches thanking us for our time there. They
took little Spaghetti, the dog we hoped to bring back (he followed us
to the temple uninvited) and dipped his paw in iodine to sign a card
for us. It was all pretty touching. We tipped our six-fingered (and
toed!) waiter 500 rupees ($12, a fortune here) for putting up with all
our special ("pizza with no cheese", "8 chapatis, fruit salad, and a
beer" etc) requests. He smiled for the 2nd time we ever saw, the
first being when earlier in the day we gave him our sadly unneeded
supply of dogfood and chew toys for his great dane pup Roxy.
Now we are in Pushkar, supposedly one of the holiest cities in India,
but its kindof weird and full of very aggressive people. We are
taking refuge in a beautiful haveli (very old mansion, so so nice) and
deciding if we can really put up with this city for a week. Then onto
Tamil Nadu in the south.
Some renderings, while I'm waiting for the lithium battery, which is the only thing remaining to be measured accurately before sending the files to be prototyped...
ALTERNATE ENDINGS
There are times when they gather at the edge of your life,
Shadows slipping over the far hills, daffodils
blooming too early, the dark matter of the universe
that threads its way through the few thousand blackbirds
that have invaded the trees out back. Every ending
sloughs off our dreams like snakeskin. This is the kind of
black ice the mind skids across. The candlelight burning down
into the sand. The night leaving its ashes in our eyes.
There are times when your voice turns over in my sleep.
It is no longer blind. The sky is no longer deaf.
There are times when it seems the stars practice
all night just to become fireflies, when it seems there is
no end to what our hearts scribble on corridor walls.
Only when we look at each other do we cease to be ourselves.
Only at a certain height does the smoke blend into air.
There are times when your words seem welded to that sky.
There are times when love is so complicated it circles
like chimney swifts unable to decide where to land.
There are endings so sad their shadows scuff the dirt.
Their sky is as inconsolable as the two year old, Zahra,
torn from her mother and beaten to death in the Sudan.
There are endings so sad I want the morning light
to scourge the fields. Endings that are only what the river
dreams when it dries up. Endings that are constant echoes.
There are times when I think we are satellites collecting
dust from one of the earlier births of the universe Don't give up.
Each ending is an hourglass filled with doors. There are times
when I feel you might be searching for me, when I can read
what is written on the far sides of stars. I'm nearly out of time.
My heart is a dragonfly. I'll have to settle for this, standing under
a waterfall of words you never said. There are times like this
when no ending appears, times when I am so inconsolably happy.
- Richard Jackson